Beauty and The Beast
by bornatexasgirl
Summary: Established Toddett fluff...sort of. Mrs. Lovett administers first-aid after Sweeney cuts himself with one of his own razors. And, Sweeney reflects on Lucy and not being Benjamin, anymore.


"Bloody moron, you are. " her thick Cockney accent reverberated sharply through the tiny pie shop. He'd give it to her, she tolerated him far better than he tolerated himself sometimes. Although the petulance one might associate with a small child wasn't so readily tolerated by the baker. Which might be why the cut in the palm of his hand hasn't garnered him much sympathy from her. She remains unaffected by both his bloody palm and his petulant pout of pain, choosing instead to berate him. "You'd be a lot better off with those bloody razors if you op'ned 'em at a normal speed. You'd certainly have less mess to deal with. "

"And ruin all of your fun, pet?" He drawled dryly, a wicked smirk tugging at his mouth. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because then I wouldn't want to smack that bloody moronic 'ead of yours. " She snapped testily, "Me tolerance ain't what it used to be, dealing with you lot and your egos."

He made a show of looking around to see if there was someone else in the pie shop. "Lot? Pet, are you senile?"

"Ain't bloody senile, Mistah T." She wrapped a strip of cloth around his palm and tied it before tucking the ends under. "Get out of 'ere. "

In a rare show of affection, he grabbed her hand and lifted it up to his mouth, pressing kisses along her knuckles. A soft murmur of his appreciation followed and she was once again reassured that their banter was all playful. "You're a bloody wonder, love."

"And your 'and is bloody. " Mrs. Lovett retorted smartly. With that she stood up and set about cleaning up the pie shop. Sweeping old flour off of the counter, scrubbing it clean in preparation for a new batch of pies and scrubbing dishes. "You just gon' sit there all day?"

He watched the flurry of black lace flutter about the pie shop, scrubbing it to a spotless gleam. Watching her move about in her shop had been dizzying at first. She moved to her own syncopated rhythm that had at first been almost too fast for him to keep up with but after a while he had adjusted to the fast pace and watched as she swiftly and with a ballerina's grace fluttered about her shop.

"Bloody wonder," He breathed, his deep onyx gaze focused on the redhead. "Bloody wonder, she is."

She hummed contentedly as moved about, cleaning the day out of her shop. Old flour was thrown out and day old pies were tossed into the oven, burning to ash. The counter where she worked gleamed resplendently, even in the dim light. She worked even under the dark brooding of his severe onyx gaze. He was a dark, brooding presence looming over the shop. By contrast she was light and cheery, bringing a maternal warmth; illuminating the shop in a warm glow that made everyone comfortable. If only the customers knew how dark she really was, he thought wryly.

He had watched the beautiful redheaded baker thin her lips into a determined line and bury herself up to her elbows in blood and meat. He had watched her clean up the bloody remnants of his shop without blinking an eye. Her customers had no idea that the affectionate woman who served them food and liquor was the same person who helped him dispose of the evidence of his crimes.

She was the supplier of the gin and the only one who could handle him when he had too much of said gin. She was the ethereal woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere when he needed her. He wouldn't admit it even by torture but he needed her, often times more than she ever realized. When she told him about Lucy, about what Judge Turpin had done to her, how she had sought solace in arsenic from the apothecary, and how it driven her insane.

She had been the only thing keeping him grounded.

He was more than halfway to insanity himself, and the very idea of what the judge had done to his beloved Lucy had very nearly finished what being on that forsaken penal colony had started – his early death. But, it had been Mrs. Lovett, with her slightly love-sick reassurance that she would help him exact his revenge that had pulled him back, made him realize that he had _something _to live for. Given at the time, _something _had been close to nothing because he had been struggling through a rush of emotions, with anger being the most prevalent, and it had blinded him. And, when the razor sliced the first throat – he knew.

Lucy Barker would hate Sweeney Todd.

No longer was he sweet, innocent Benjamin Barker. That man was gone; all of that soft naivety and shy silence had been hammered and carved at until in its place was something harder. Hatred and loathing and anger and lusting after revenge. _Needing _to see those precious rubies spill, needing to feel the release of a razor slicing flesh.

But, Eleanor Lovett, well – she was different.

With the exception of her part in his plot for revenge and it turning the whole of London into cannibals, the woman should be up for Sainthood. He smirked wryly at the very notion of Eleanor taking any sort of holy vow.

Irony.

Funny irony.

"Mistah T!" her fingers dance in front of his face. "Do you hear me?"

"What, pet?"

His snarl was harmless – a response to being tugged from his trance, and once he realized where he was he would settle back into his seat and come to his senses. She just rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand into view. _Oh. _Well, he could see where that could be a problem, bleeding through the fabric and all.

"Me first aid ain't what it used to be." She sighed, disappearing somewhere in the back and coming back with a bowl of water and a clean piece of cloth. "We'll clean you up and then tomorrow I'll go to the 'pothecary to get you somethin'. Keep the infection away."

He said nothing, just let her work.

A hiss of air escaped between his teeth at the slight chill of the water and she breathed an apology, murmuring about the bloody cold temperatures leeching the heat out of everything. She finished cleaning the blood off of his hand and dried it carefully before re-wrapping it, tugging the fabric marginally tighter than she had before. It wasn't cutting off his circulation or uncomfortable by any means, but it did feel more effective than the previous attempt. "'ere we go," her voice was softer, now, and her eyes droop heavily. "Right as rain, you are, Mistah T."

She was exhausted.

Not that she would tell him. She doesn't really divulge such information, even though it would suit her well to do so, and it would certainly improve her health. She'd like to think, and for all he knew, she did think that he hadn't noticed that she'd barely gotten over her last struggle with a cold before another brought her down again. He'd have to be crazy not to notice her struggle for a breath or the sneezing she'd been doing.

"Go to bed, pet." It's uncharacteristically tender, what he said, and it's even more uncharacteristic for him to brush her hair out of her face, but anything's possible with Sweeney, she supposed. "You're not well. You haven't been for quite some time, now."

"'m fine, I promise."

"Yes, pet, and I am still Benjamin Barker." Sweeney drawled sarcastically. He stood up and tugged the bowl of water from her, setting it down on the table, before reaching for her. He pressed a hand into her back and urged her to follow him. "Come, now. Have some gin and get into bed. You need rest if you are to continue."

"Continue, what?"

Her eyes are heavy and her words slurred and she didn't seem to need the gin, after all. He doesn't tuck her in to bed like a father might a child, nor does he join her. None of that. He simply waited at the door for her to change and then when he was certain she was sleep, he slipped of back to his shop to wait for dawn.

It was an odd relationship.

But, it was theirs, and it was more than he had, had in fifteen years. And, no, he hadn't forgot about Lucy but she no longer fit into his world. All of the ash and blood and filth would ruin the angelic visage, but then, the arsenic had already taken that so, maybe she would but…he no longer _needed _her. She was insane and when Eleanor had led him to the street corner she frequented – he hadn't recognized her as his beautiful Lucy. He had left that filthy street corner without looking back.

She had been Benjamin's.

And, he couldn't be Benjamin, anymore.


End file.
